


Soft and Warm

by quiveringbunny



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Las Vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiveringbunny/pseuds/quiveringbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Merlyn finds himself in an unlikely place with an unlikely companion. Three chapters. Rated M for later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote my last story, some readers asked me to write something about Malcolm Merlyn. I don't know if this idea is new. Hopefully, this version is fun.

Chapter 1 

Yesterday he was standing by the edge of a cliff in the shadow of an ancient minaret, his dark brown hair whipping in the wind, his eyes searching for the horizon line. Now he was sitting at the base of a fake pyramid sipping weak scotch. His eyes gazed up where the windows of the Luxor gathered together into a single peak above him. So much artifice. Through a ridiculous twist of karma, Malcolm Merlyn found himself in this place, which couldn't have been more different than the lair of the Demon. That was a place that conveyed deprivation. Pain. Gravitas. For what seemed like an eternity, Malcolm embraced the ways of Ra's al Ghul, eschewing the trappings of the billionaire lifestyle he left behind. Now, here he was, stuck on a layover and surrounded by nonsense. Scanning the room, Merlyn noted how few people looked like they could afford to indulge in the wickedness on offer. He felt pity and disdain for these creatures.

He could have stayed somewhere more upscale, like the Bellagio, but he had enough marble and granite hallways to last him for some time. He also thought it best to keep a low profile as he made his way back home to Starling City. Despite being gone for some time, he was still a known person in the Western world. Here in this downscale den of lunacy he was unlikely to run into an old acquaintance and he relished his anonymity.

Malcolm slowly spun on his barstool and surveyed the casino floor. It really was ridiculous. Everything in this town either seemed needlessly decadent or was bathed in a patina of grime. The latter reminded him of the Glades at its worst. The Glades. His thoughts wandered home ahead of him. He was returning a different person, although his friends and family would never realize it. Who could know what he had been through? Who could appreciate the man he was now? They certainly wouldn't understand his radical vision for saving his city. His mind was clear and he was ready to set his plan in motion.

A group of ladies on a Hen Night stumbled past in provocative cocktail dresses and feather boas. They cackled to each other in code - vodka-infused jokes only they understood - before moving on to the next bar. Malcolm no longer calculated how long it had been since he was with a woman. And honestly, it hadn't bothered him. Not everyone in Nanda Parbat acted like they were in a monastic enclave. There was coupling, surely. But Merlin had chosen to remain celibate unless a mission demanded compulsory seduction. Luckily that was rare. Life was less complicated without romantic entanglements. It helped him to focus on more important things.

He never considered his single state might have something to do with grief. Indiscriminate violence had taken his beloved wife. That event set him on a path away from his decaying city, his motherless son, and toward exotic destinations and the League of Assassins. The League. They were the steel that polished his mind and tested his body. They taught him to not just survive, but to annihilate whatever might be a threat. Invincibility suited him.

Malcolm's senses were magnified now. When he first arrived in this place the sensory overload nearly drove him mad. So many lights. The din of slots. Crowds of goddamn people crushing in the aisles. Now his breathing had slowed and he could home in on specific elements. The pattern of the carpet. Egyptian kitsch festooning every surface. Even the employees wore ridiculous costumes.

He turned back to the bar and stared into the remnants at the bottom of his glass. The sounds around him disappeared and all he heard was the wild wind of Nanda Parbat. His meditation was interrupted by a voice, at once smoky and girlish.

"Are you one of those guys who can read ice cubes? My Granddad could do that. But only after three Old Fashioned's. He predicted that Reagan would get assassinated. Well, of course that didn't happen exactly - he lived. But Poppy was kind of right."

At this point, Merlyn had to turn to face the source of the chirping. It turned out to be a petite cocktail waitress in a little gold tunic dress. A Cleopatra wig and overtly-dramatic makeup nearly ruined her looks, but she had the biggest doe eyes Malcolm had ever seen.

"Ice cubes!" Malcolm regarded her with curiosity and then did the easy thing. He smiled.

The girl-woman's mouth opened ever so slightly in surprise. Wow. He was the handsomest man she had seen in a long time. Flashing dark eyes. A chiseled jaw. Dimples had appeared. Hell, she was a sucker for dimples.

She almost blushed and he hadn't even spoken yet. She managed to stammer. "I'm so sorry for disturbing you. Si, Sir can I get you another?"

"You didn't disturb me. Actually, I would like another scotch." He gently shook his empty glass.

"Of course. I'll be right back," her eyes sparkling and oh-so-huge.

She smiled coyly and walked away. Was she flirting just then, he wondered? It had been a while since he had to read those kinds of signals. But as her hips swayed on teetering heels, he answered his own question. Malcolm read her in an instant. She was a woman who liked to please people. With detachment, he surmised that a woman like that living in place like this probably had a tough life.

The Dark Archer's instincts were confirmed when the waitress returned with his drink and a bowl of peanuts.

"You looked hungry," she smiled warmly. I _'ll bet men look hungry around you all the time,_ he thought. Malcolm  remembered that he was back in the west again, where manners and small talk were compulsory. He might as well take this opportunity to re-acclimate.

"Thank you," he smiled. He noted micro expressions on her face that conveyed his smile affected her. He lowered his eyes toward her cleavage and then over to her shoulder, peering at her name tag. "Dee."

She seemed to be blushing under her makeup. Was it possible that a woman filling out a dress like that could be so guileless?

"Dee, did you know this," Merlyn displayed his hand, his palm flat and horizontal, his fingers together, "is the Egyptian hieroglyphic for the letter D." He recalled it from a display at a museum he had seen on a family outing. He had always been good at remembering things. It was a crucial skill in business.

"Really?" Her eyes grew, fascinated. She bit her lip and advanced her palm to mirror his, careful not to make actual contact. She guessed that his hand would be warm. In a flash, Dee's mind went to that naughty place women didn't discuss except with each other - the one that had to do with hands indicating the size of...other things. Yes, this dreamboat had an exceptionally nice hand.

"Are you some kind of Egypt expert? Like Indiana Jones?" Ah, a pop culture reference. Luckily, Merlyn had a son and he had taken the boy to a movie or two.

"No, I'm more like James Bond. License to kill and all that." Malcolm gave her a sly smile. Yeah, he was kind of telling the truth here.

"Oh, I love those movies. Sean Connery. I always wanted to be a Bond Girl. I'd have a sexy name and get to wear amazing clothes."

"It's all about the Bond girls. And the guns. And the cars." Last month he had garroted a man on a train in Yemen. And now here he was, carrying on a perfectly normal conversation with a cocktail waitress.

"So where does James Bond learn about this?" Dee raised her palm once more.

"I took my son to see King Tut once." Malcolm admitted with a laugh. Not exactly James Bond now.

"Oh, you have a little boy," she sighed. With this man's genes, his child was probably adorable. But this also meant that he was attached. Dee swallowed her disappointment, but not before Malcolm read it on her face.

"Not so little now. Tommy's finishes at Princeton this year."

This revelation intrigued her. Most children at Ivy League schools came from wealthy families. High rollers usually stayed elsewhere.

"Tommy," she said in a sing-songy tone. "That's wonderful. You must be so proud of him," she paused. The next thing she said would be personal and sometimes that wasn't smart to do with strangers in her line of work, but this guy was...different. He nodded.

"My daughter just won a scholarship to MIT. She's only 16!" This revelation was unexpected. But the look of love and pride on Dee's face confirmed she was telling the truth. He watched her retrieve a photo from a secret pocket in her dress. "This is my girl, Felicity."

Malcolm studied the photo of an awkward-looking little blonde in glasses and pigtails wearing an Einstein t-shirt. She wasn't a looker like her mother, but she had potential. With a brain to go with that, she'd do fine. Merlyn also noted the use of my and mine. No ring. Adding to all the other clues, Dee was apparently available.

"Felicity. Lovely name. Are you worried about her going off to school at such a young age?"

"I'm terrified." Dee's face flashed a moment of worry, then replaced her smile. "But she's a very level-headed girl. Not like me at her age."

Merlyn's mind was suddenly full of a list of possible adventures and indiscretions a woman like Dee endured as a teenager. Sweaty backseat humiliations with jerks. Drunken parties. Perhaps an unexpected pregnancy or two. She seemed to have survived it all. Maybe they were both survivors.

Now, under no stretch of the imagination was this woman Malcolm Merlyn's type. A man of his stature required the long-term challenge and support of a sophisticated woman. His wife had been that woman. Still, at this very moment this waitress was diverting. Colorful and full of life like a tropical fish. She obviously wasn't going to be mistaken for Rhodes scholar but she had her charms. She smiled very easily. She was buoyant. Bubbly. She reminded him of a high school cheerleader or a local beauty pageant queen.

They were always up for a bit of fun. He stared at her and his mind considered all of her generous curves. So feminine. Soft. He hadn't experienced soft in a long time.

"Can you possibly forgive me?" He looked like an apologetic puppy. Dee reacted, a bit confused.

"You are being so kind and here I haven't introduced myself. I'm Malcolm," he offered his hand. She awkwardly accepted it. Nice manners. God, his hands were warm. Thinking about warm hands in the right places gave her a thrill.

"It's nice to meet you. Malcolm." Dee held his gaze for a moment or two and then remembered herself. "I should get back on the floor." She looked around, nervously. A supervisor might be watching.

"Of course. Thank you for the drink, Dee."

"You're welcome." She turned and took a few steps.

"Say, can you recommend a place where a fellow, you know, a James Bond type, could get a steak tonight?"

"Hmm," she grinned. "Let me ask the bartender. He always knows the best places."

On that, Dee pivoted away. Malcolm admired the view again. Moments later, a delicate hand slipped a napkin beside him on the bar. It had the name of a restaurant in block letters - Tony's - and next to it, a phone number. Beneath that, in cursive writing appeared "Dee S" and another phone number. Finally, at the bottom edge of the napkin. "I never do this but here is my number. I get off at 7, if you would like some company."

The Dark Archer smiled and looked up. Suddenly, Nanda Parbat felt very far away. 


	2. A Secret Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up with Malcolm and Donna.

As she carefully exited her cab, Donna was pleased she had bought the black cocktail dress currently flashing her thigh. It was nice. Sexy, but classy. It worked her ample cleavage, but came down to her knee with a generous slit in the skirt. It wasn't as expensive as her underwear. The latter made her feel powerful in a funny way. Maybe it was the secret of knowing it was there. Of course, sometimes the secret wasn't so well kept. Donna bit her lip, wondering if this might be one of those times. Tonight’s occasion warranted her best. She hadn't been asked out to a nice dinner with a proper man in a really long time. 

Donna Smoak was a self-professed loser-magnet. She wondered sometimes if the ability to attract shiftless douchbags was wired into her vagina. Princes traveled from the four corners of the earth to charm their way into her sheets before turning into frogs. The last one, Steve, cheated on her with a 19 year-old dancer, "borrowed" $750 and took her flat screen TV as a parting gift to himself. Since then she had decided she couldn't afford to be in a relationship, emotionally or financially. She had started using a nickname, "Dee," to avoid unnecessary fraternization at work. Yeah, that was working.

When the decent guy she met in the casino bar earlier called and invited her to dinner, she had considered her answer carefully. Malcolm made a point to tell her that he was only in town until the next day. She was fine with that. Ships that passed in the night worked for her. He obviously had his own money and she could keep her heart. His situation also played into her James Bond fantasy, which was not a bad thing. It was only dinner, she told herself. 

She gained her footing on the pavement, expertly. In her line of work, impossibly high heels were compulsory. She was petite. Her circle of friends included dancers and chorus girls from The Strip who towered over her. They also taught her all their tricks. Heels to appear taller, more elongated. How to put on her Cleopatra wig and makeup quickly and consistently. And other things. Donna’s thoughts went to her costume for a minute. When she met Malcolm she looked completely different. Gone now were the jet black wig and the kohl eye makeup. What if he didn't recognize her? Or worse. What if he was disappointed? She took a breath and slung her old tan raincoat over her arm as she walked toward the restaurant. Flash storms were threatening and she didn't want to ruin her outfit if she was caught later. 

Tony's was old Vegas. Rat Pack Vegas. Big red wine and huge steaks, cooked perfectly, or else. Malcolm was enjoying the vibe as soon as her entered. It was the kind of place you would only know about through a local. He was seated at a raised booth covered in plush red velvet upholstery. He couldn't help smiling again. He was now a million miles away from anything he knew and he liked the way it quickened his pulse. His eyes darted around the room, imagining all of the bad men who had enjoyed a meal here. He knew, of course, that he was likely to be the worst. 

At first, he only saw blonde hair. Full and softly framing a heart-shaped face looking up at the maître d' near the doorway. Then he saw the woman's eyes. Blue. Big, despite the distance. Even without the wig and theatrical makeup, she was unmistakable. He watched those eyes turn toward him and a big smile draw across her red lips as she approached. Malcolm scooted to a standing position and smoothed out his suit. The corners of his mouth turned up as she drew near.

"Hi," Donna said almost shyly, moving close and offering him her cheek. He responded by leaning in and brushing his lips against it. He used his proximity to whisper "Hello," into her ear. He pulled away and admired her for a moment. She felt his eyes taking her in slowly and deliberately, from her feet to the top of her head, and she clenched her lips together. She expected him to linger on her breasts, as most men did.

"I wasn't sure you would recognize me like this."

"I would know you anywhere." Ah, the Girls, she thought, swallowing hard. "You have exceptional blue eyes." Donna shifted to a stunned smile as Malcolm took her coat and bag and placed them in the booth. He gently grasped her hand and guided her to step up. As she slid into her seat, she exposed an amount of creamy thigh that was likely inappropriate, depending on whom you asked. 

Once Malcolm settled in across from his dinner companion, the sommelier approached with a very good bottle of red. Donna admired how nice Malcolm looked in his dark suit. 

"Your wine, Sir. Decanted twenty-five minutes ago, as you requested." The waiter poured rich plummy liquid into their Cabernet glasses. He treated these patrons with the utmost respect. The man obviously had a refined palate, given his choice in wines and his request for its preparation in advance.

Once Donna realized the effort Malcolm had taken with the wine, she considered the act a compliment and a kind of culinary foreplay. She had never been with a man who planned that far in advance. So far, he was knocking it out of the park and she kept thinking that no wine would be necessary to intoxicate her. They took a moment to choose their meals next and the waiter hustled off. 

Malcolm lifted his glass toward her for a toast. 

"Thank you for this, Dee. Fascinating place. Classic Vegas. I feel like I've been let in on a secret."

Donna raised her glass, but lowered her eyes. She had a secret of her own. 

"Malcolm, I’m kind of embarrassed. Dee isn't my actual name. It's just..." Merlyn opened his mouth in feigned surprise. He understood at once. Using her real name while serving drinks to frisky men would expose her privacy too much. A pseudonym kept her safe. The Dark Archer understood this.

"A secret identity!" He scanned the room, then leaned forward. "I imagine something a little more Bond Girl for a mysterious woman."

Donna brightened. "Oh, I do have a Bond Girl name picked out." Her eyes flashed at him and he waited. She began to blush and shook her head. Merlyn tilted his jaw in curiosity. She looked flustered. Malcolm dug into his pocket for a pen and slid it, along with a coaster, across the table. Donna picked it up and wrote something on it before sliding the cork disk back over to him. He raised it reverentially. 

IVANA GOODLEIGH. Fuck, he grinned. 

"Perfect!" he gave her a little grin. She beamed at him, sitting a little taller in her seat. Malcolm leaned in again and growled. "Bond approves." 

Malcolm regarded her with some real admiration. She wasn't an accomplished career woman, but she was holding her own in a rough town. And she still had a buoyancy about her. Imagination. He had never met anyone like that before. Dee also had a rather tantalizing little figure. Curvy flesh that begged to be touched. So different from the women of the League, who were muscular and lean or the praying mantis-like ladies of high society. He found himself thinking about the thigh he had spotted earlier and how nice it would be to put his mouth right... there. 

"So tell me about your...latest mission," she said, leaning her chin on her hand. 

Malcolm considered her a moment. Playing with her was fun. Like playing with a sweet and innocent kitten. She certainly was no threat. He also liked the idea of entertaining her and seeing her expressions. As their meals arrived, he began to relate one of his more exotic missions in the service of the League. Details were changed to protect his identity and make him seem more heroic. An occasional salacious detail or double entendre elicited a muffled squeal. She was rapt.

He's probably an accountant, or a lawyer, she thought to herself. But who cares? He is so sexy. She fixated on various body parts as he spoke. The dimple in his chin. His thick, wavy hair. She barely noticed her food. His mouth was full and devastating when he smiled. It looked a little cruel when he recounted a dangerous part of his tale, but that only turned her on more. His eyes were dark and decorated with long eyelashes. His nose, a little sharp, would feel fantastic nuzzling her ear. Finally, his voice was deep and throaty. It conveyed all of the excitement of his story, which had so much sinister detail in it, it almost seemed real. 

Malcolm was careful not to dominate the conversation. At certain points, he would stop and ask…Ivana…about herself. Did she prefer the Le Meridien or the Villa Belle Epoque hotel in Cairo? Did she like trains or airplane travel? There was also a lengthy discussion of weapons. The Femme Fatale insisted she liked those shiny little pistols that dangerous ladies concealed in purses and wore strapped to their thighs. Malcolm countered that they weren’t much good from more than a few feet away. There was also a lengthy discussion about how lucky women were to be able to have handbags of all sizes for carrying a range of lethal items, whereas men had to conceal pistols and knives under suit jackets or inside boots. Donna delighted in the fantasy he was weaving and played along as best she could. Malcolm was much better at making up things spontaneously. He had seen a lot of spy movies, she surmised.

Donna tried to hold her own. She recalled stories some of the girls at work had told her. Jenny Conway had gone to Singapore and worked as a companion for a tech executive. Another, Tina Tomkinson had been a Rockette in NYC before heading west and claiming a spot as a showgirl at the Jubilee show at Bally’s. She liked Tina’s stories the best. Donna had wanted to be a showgirl herself when she came to Vegas. But she was too short by three inches and the dream eluded her. Donna crafted a little story based on their experiences and managed to entertain Malcolm for twenty minutes with a ribald tale about seducing an important tech expert while being an undercover dancer. It was a pretty good story. She liked embellishing the details about her costumes and the dances. Malcolm knew she was making everything up on the fly, but enjoyed what her imagination was revealing to him. He saw her need to be respected and to be desired. 

When the plates were cleared, Donna scooted forward in her seat, leaning closer. She placed her hand on the tablecloth, drawing shapes with her manicured index finger. 

“What do you think of Las Vegas?” he asked. Donna’s face turned serious. It didn’t feel like a fantasy question, but an honest one that deserved an honest answer. 

“Everyone comes here and thinks it’s glamorous. Which it can be, for sure,” her voice suggested there was more to be said. “Everybody likes shiny things, don’t they? But it isn’t easy to stay polished up. People come along and want to wear it off you.” Malcolm watched Donna’s face go off somewhere a little melancholy. But a moment later, her smile and vivacious energy welled again from some unknown place. “Of course, we Bond girls stay shiny most of the time. With our fur coats and jewels and everything!” 

Malcolm thought he understood her a little bit more at that moment. Her wide-eyed smile and vivid imagination were a deliberate choice, borne out of necessity, just as his persona was carefully cultivated to instill fear in his enemies and deceive the rest of the world. 

He impetuously reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. She responded to his warmth, a flash of warmth registering throughout her body. Malcolm allowed his eyes to twinkle a bit. 

“You know a great deal about dazzling men all on your own…Ivana.” She responded to the compliment, real heat now being generated between her thighs. Malcolm looked into her eyes and knew his comment had the desired effect. Donna’s left ankle found Malcolm’s leg and pressed against it, sending a silent message. Then the waiter returned.

“Can we interest you in dessert this evening?” 

Malcolm studied Donna, his eyes narrowing. She thought perhaps he was reading her mind at that moment. Did he know that she was obsessed with the idea of licking the cleft in his chin? Suddenly, he sat back, still looking into her eyes. 

“Two glasses of vintage Port, and…you have cheesecake?”

“The best, Sir. Made fresh on the premises.” 

“Two,” Merlyn nodded. 

“Yes, Sir.” The waiter disappeared, leaving the two to continue a rather intense staring contest. 

“You like Port,” he stated, rather than asked. She nodded, but without assuredness.

“It’s like a kiss from a beautiful woman’s lips. Deep red in color. Intoxicating sweetness followed by pleasurable heat. Irresistible and decadent.” He was letting his libido respond to her feminine energy. Seeing the way she was looking at him made him feel powerful and masculine. No matter how frivolous a romantic assignation might be, he told himself that the practice of passion had value. 

Donna’s face flushed. She had to pull her hand away and catch her breath. Malcolm sat back and studied her. 

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Donna heard him say the words and they didn’t really register before he was suddenly gone. She was left to sit alone in the busy restaurant and felt a bit self-conscious. She took advantage of the break to adjust her outfit, to check her lipstick and cool her jets. Jesus, she made a sincere little prayer, please let me have him just this once. I won’t ask for anything else for ages. The impropriety of asking God for a one night stand with an impossibly hot man was lost on her. 

After a few minutes, Donna started to feel lost. Malcolm was taking longer than she expected to return. Could it be she had read him all wrong? He wasn’t a wealthy Dad out on a lark? He was just another deadbeat who left her with the check? Unfortunately, this scenario had happened to her before. She didn’t want to believe it and continued to find ways to distract herself as she waited for as long as possible. 

Then, Malcolm strode back to the table and leaned over her He placed one hand on the table and the other on the back of the booth, effectively surrounding her. The two exchanged an intense look as he drew close enough to inhale her. 

“I could never wait for dessert,” he whispered.

Then he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, finding them pillowy and warm. Lovely. It evolved into something more than just welcoming. Donna’s mouth sighed open and he invaded quickly with his tongue. The kiss was incredible and Malcolm’s attentions made her feel beautiful, intensifying her response. His tongue was full of surprises, but Donna accepted each new assault with gusto. She was beginning to feel wetness pooling between her thighs. Exciting and slightly uncomfortable. 

When Malcolm finally pulled away, he saw Donna’s lipstick was smeared and her eyes had taken on a dreamy quality. He moved back to his seat. With a smile, he wiped his own mouth with his napkin, traces of her color contrasting the white linen. Malcolm smiled approvingly and handed it to his date, who was still recovering. She accepted the cloth and proceeded to clean up her pout. 

Once the Port and cheesecake arrived they enjoyed a few quiet bites. 

“You like it?” he asked.

“The Port is delicious. And the cheesecake is so decadent. I feel like I could float away.” Malcolm nodded. After his last sip of the delicious red wine in his small glass, he cleared his throat. The waiter produced a bill and Malcolm brought out his wallet. He paid with large bills.

“That will be all. Thank you,” he told the waiter, who knew better than to stick around when he’d just received a generous tip. Malcolm turned his attention to the woman voluptuous creature across from him – the one with the heaving bosom and the sweet smile.

“This has been such a fine dinner. Good wine. Good steak. A lovely companion. Scintillating conversation.” He leaned forward. “And one exceptionally nice kiss.” 

“Thank you for inviting me, Malcolm. I have had such a fantastic meal!” 

“You know, I can’t stay. And I don’t imagine I’ll be back again. In my line, attachments are dangerous.” He chose his words deliberately. Donna took each one in and nodded, communicating that she understood him.

“I hardly know you, really, but I can tell you are special. And I want our evening to end in the best possible way.” Donna looked a little sad. Malcolm picked up the pen and scribbled on the coaster. 

“We have just met and I don’t want to be presumptuous or insult you in any way.” He slid the disk across the table. “This is where I’ll be tonight. If you would like to keep me company, I would certainly like that. Please consider it. There will be a car outside. It will take you anywhere you want to go.”

Donna accepted the coaster. Malcolm snagged her other wrist and slowly pressed his lips into her palm. He could feel her pulse throbbing. He smiled, rose up, and exited the restaurant. 

Donna sat quietly for a moment, processing what had just happened. 

LATER

The Montmartre Suite at the Paris hotel was quite nice, even with the lights off. Opulently decorated in the French style, it had a bohemian edge that made it a little sexier. It wasn’t really Malcolm Merlyn’s style – he preferred the zen simplicity of Asian décor – but it was the nicest thing he could arrange on short notice. A quick call had initiated a change in venue for his bags. Now, here he was, resting in a chair, staring out a window at a facsimile of the Eiffel Tower and waiting. Subtle ambient music played through a sound system. 

Malcolm looked comfortable now in dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was barefoot. During dinner, Malcolm had decided that he wanted to take…Ivana to bed and he wanted the setting to be nice. She obviously couldn’t afford luxuries in her life, but she sincerely appreciated them. It might have been a little presumptuous to make the arrangement without getting her agreement first, but he was feeling pretty confident. He wasn’t usually wrong when it came to these things. 

A quiet knock roused him from his chair. Malcolm took one more sip from his glass of neat scotch and placed it on a table. He moved to the door, opened it and leaned in the entry. 

Donna stood in the hallway wearing a Mona Lisa smile, heels and her tan trench coat. The coat was short, covering her torso completely, but its hem ended a few heart-stopping inches above her knees. Her hair was wrapped in sloppy bun. Donna had managed to become very turned on in the car on the way over, just thinking about what the night might bring. She licked her lips expectantly.

Malcolm regarded her with lust. His eyes were drawn to her legs, which seemed to go on forever. She, in turn, admired how good he looked in a simple white shirt. So classy. His lips turned upward and his breathing sped up. 

“Miss Goodleigh, you look like fucking Christmas.” Malcolm moved fast, at once grabbing her and pushing her straight back against the wall in the public hallway. She stifled a cry as he pressed hard against her. His mouth covered hers and found her just as eager as she had been at dinner. His hands roamed and kneaded her breasts over her coat. His leg pressed between hers. She gasped at the pressure and only managed to whimper “Yes,” when he moved to lavish her neck with hot open kisses. 

The nearby ding of an elevator moved Malcolm to action. He swept her into his room and slammed the door. Now that things were private, he kissed her again, this time more slowly. Donna wrapped her arms around Malcolm’s neck and ran her fingers up into his hair. The Dark Archer responded by running his hands down her back, her waist and to her hips. Massaging the tops of her thighs over her coat elicited something akin to purring. She strained to press against him, seeking something strong and hard to nestle between her legs. 

Malcolm finally pulled away. He took her palm and kissed it as he had in the restaurant. Donna smiled warmly and moved into the beautiful room as he held her hand. 

“What a gorgeous place!” 

“I thought you would appreciate it. Now, may I pour you a drink?”

“Okay. A glass of white wine would be nice…if you have it.”

“I do.” Malcolm moved toward the bar while Donna headed further into the room. A tactile person, she enjoyed touching all of the fabrics and surfaces surrounding her. A few minutes later, when Malcolm emerged with two glasses of wine, Donna was fiddling with the music system, looking for something with a better beat. She settled on a station that played rock. 

Malcolm placed the beverages on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. He silently willed Donna to join him. She didn’t disappoint. Instead of sitting down next to him, Donna moved close, spread her legs and straddled his lap. She leaned in for another languid kiss that tangled her tongue with his. 

Eventually Malcolm needed more and began running his hands up her thighs. His exploration was deemed worthy almost immediately as he slipped his fingers under the thick fabric of her trench and moved to grab her ass. Skin and panties. Warm and soft. She felt incredible and the position she had taken gave her a kind of power that made her even sexier. Meanwhile, she felt his hardness and sought out optimal contact. 

When they broke from their kiss, Malcolm stroked her face gently. 

“If I don’t remember to say it later, thank you for coming, Miss Goodleigh.”

Donna started to smile and took a beat. She cocked her head to the side. 

“Oh, I haven’t come yet, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter. There haven't been many people reading this story so far. I hope folks might come across it over time and find it entertaining. Please do leave comments. I love reading them.


	3. Ooh, Mr. Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is naughty.

Malcolm kissed Ivana, his hands securing the back of her head as she pressed her hands against the front of his white shirt. His mouth explored hers with curiosity and need. Their tongues rubbed up against each other with a steady promise of things to come. When her mysterious companion finally pulled away she was left breathless. Still straddling his lap, she couldn't help but feel his excitement grazing up against her. Sensations from above and below left her a little high and throbbing with anticipation. Looking into his eyes, she saw an expression that amounted to a challenge. In a split second, she decided Ivana was up to it.

“Mister Bond,” she smirked, like the Bond girl she was becoming. Malcolm leaned in and planted open kisses on her neck. He inhaled her scent – Chanel No.5 and pheromones. “You’re going to tell me all of your secret plans.” Ivana said huskily as she began unbuttoning his shirt.

“If you were planning on torturing me, I should warn you. I’ve been tortured by the best and I was never broken.” he stated in between kisses. “They taught us that in spy school.” This was not altogether untrue, actually. Such lessons had taken place in the lair of The Demon, but they never involved buxom blondes in six-inch pumps. Just then, he felt her right hand slide under his shirt as her left index finger traced his straining zipper.

“Hmm. I’ll have to alter my strategy.”

Ivana stood up and stepped away from Malcolm. She moved very deliberately to a spot on the other side of the marble coffee table and began to sway to the beat of the music. Dancing was something that came naturally to her. She liked to go out with her girlfriends to the clubs and was always complimented by men who approached her. Of course, tonight she wasn’t in the company of some panting lothario. Tonight she was seducing a cosmopolitan playboy. Special efforts would have to be made.

Merlyn steadied his jaw, at first. It was quite obvious what she was starting to do and he wasn’t sure if she would be able to pull it off. Malcolm knew that his reaction would be important to maintain the James Bond fantasy. Also, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings if she ended up having two left feet. A one-night stand didn’t afford a person the luxury of missteps in these sensitive areas.

It turned out he had nothing to worry about. Ivana was really good at this. She was at once graceful and provocative. Her hands. Her shoulders. The way she rolled her hips. Malcolm managed to remain stoic when she reached her thumbs under the short hemline of her trench and tugged at her panties. She teased them up and down her thighs until finally dropping them to the floor. Then she turned sideways and bent over to pick them up, all the while to the pulse of the music. Malcolm quietly sipped his scotch and took in the show.

Eventually, she drew close again, planting a foot on either side of his as he sat, a tantalizing gap between her legs. She looked down at him and loosened the fabric belt around her waist. It slid out of its loops and she waved it in the air before dropping it on the table just behind her. Then, keeping her eyes trained on him, she started unbuttoning her coat. Slowly, with one hand. The other fluffed up her golden hair. She towered over him in her heels and he was intrigued by what he could almost see from his low angle every time she bent her knees and swung her hips. His resolve was lost when the tip of her tongue settled in the corner of her mouth.

Ivana was thrilled with how this was going so far. Malcolm was so attractive to her. At some moments, his good looks were boyish and sweet and at other times he smoldered like a dangerous killer. Wow. Right now, the man in front of her with the blue eyes and the sexy mouth was looking at her with authentic lust. She felt really connected to her body and present in the moment and every look he gave her turned her on. Their shared decision to play out a fantasy was so much hotter than she imagined it would be. Every spontaneous thing that occurred with this stranger was exciting to her.

Her final act before shucking off her coat was to reach deep into one of her pockets and produce a handful of condoms, which she tossed behind her on the table. He nodded, slowly.

Dropping her tan coat on the floor, she stood radiantly in front of Malcolm and let him take in all of her curves before lowering herself to sit down on the coffee table just across from him and right next to his glass. Still wearing her high heels, Ivana’s knees bent and her legs spread apart. His eyes danced around, seeing exposed flesh everywhere. Ivana leaned back on her elbows.

“One of us is wearing too many clothes,” she stated, matter-of-factly.

Malcolm stood and removed his shirt, all the while staring down into her cornflower eyes. For a flashing moment, Donna noticed burn marks on his arms and deep scars on his taut naked torso and nearly broke character, but she stopped herself. Perhaps he wasn’t a lawyer, after all. At that moment, the “Ivana” in her didn’t care. She sat up and reached to unbutton his pants, then pulled the zipper down. Her hand brushed against the hardness she was revealing.

“Ooh, Mister Bond,” she gave Merlyn a lascivious look. His nostrils flared and he exhaled a deep breath. She looked beautiful. Such a different woman from the wide-eyed lady he’d met in the casino that afternoon. Her alter ego definitely brought out the best in her.

Malcolm watched as Ivana took his hands and planted a soft kiss on each of his palms, mimicking his own earlier actions. Then, she took it to a new level, her tongue slowly licking one of his thumbs. She sucked it into her mouth and gave him a passionate preview of what might come later. He suddenly found new purpose for the meditation and self-control exercises he practiced on Nanda Parbat.

Ivana pulled Merlyn down on his knees to face her. She dipped her fingers into his glass of scotch brought them to her lips, making a point to enjoy the flavor. Then, after reaching her fingers in again, she rubbed the alcohol on the dark pink skin surrounding her nipple. The wantonness of the act captivated him. Malcolm’s eyes narrowed for a moment and then he slid one hand around her waist and the other moved to explore her breast. A moment later he was devouring her, licking Glenfiddich from her skin, soft and warm. Ivana moaned and congratulated herself internally as his tongue pressed against her. She brushed her cheek against his wavy brown hair.

Eventually, Malcolm found her mouth again and they kissed and nipped at each other’s lips until they were swollen and panting. At the same time, one of his hands kneaded her thigh and slowly moved toward her entrance. She was feeling the tightness building there and shifted her seat, wishing for friction. He sensed her urgency and was eager to respond.

“I have a new strategy,” she said, taking a deep breath. With that, she leaned back against her elbows again, welcoming his advance. He looked her square in the eye.

“Tell me.” He watched her face as he ran his thumb across her hot slit. He liked the way Ivana licked her lips and bit on the bottom one to stifle a scream when he pressed in to discover just how wet she was.

“First, I’m going to massage every inch of you with my tongue,” she gasped, then paused, dramatically. “Some inches more than others.”

“I like your strategy so far.” Malcolm lifted one of Ivana’s knees onto his shoulder. Her head lolled back and she gasped up at the ceiling.

“Then, I’m going to make you come really hard and you are going to be so exhausted afterward you are going to tell me everything about your secret plan.” At the same time, Malcolm lifted the other knee to the opposite shoulder so that her core was only a few inches from his nose.

“What if I have multiple plans, Miss Goodleigh?” his hot breath puffed against her intimate flesh.

“I’ll just keep pumping you…for information, Mister Bond.”

“Right.” Malcolm then invaded her desperate, creamy center with his evil tongue, causing Ivana to scream and buck her hips.

**XX**

Malcolm thought he had the upper hand. She had obviously enjoyed the ministrations of his mouth and wore a dreamy, satisfied expression as he took a moment to collect himself. Then, rather unexpectedly, she recovered. She made quick work of peeling off his briefs. The next thing he knew, he was seated back on the couch and this woman was worshiping his body. Thoroughly. Hands. Fingers.Fingernails. Her soft cheeks. That golden hair. Everything she had was used to stimulate him. She wasn’t kidding about that massage thing she mentioned earlier either. His cock hadn’t felt that kind of adulation in a long time and he allowed himself to enjoy it. When the frenzy of heat building within threatened to overwhelm him, Malcolm pulled Ivana away and looked deeply into her disappointed eyes.

“No?” she squeaked.

“Not yet. Come on.”

Malcolm raised himself up and pulled Ivana with him. She grabbed a couple of condoms as he tugged her toward the bedroom.

Ivana admired the gorgeous room, decorated black and white with rich tones of red and gold in the finishes. The California king bed, half covered in opulent pillows, looked like something fit for a French prince. They had princes, right? She didn’t much care because tall, dark and handsome was about to – reach beneath the dust ruffle and pull out the biggest black canvas duffle bag she had ever seen. She watched as he threw it on the bed.

“You didn’t stop a good blow job to show me your nine iron, did you?”

Malcolm pulled her into his arms, his erection pressed hard up against her, and kissed her again. She craved as many kisses from him as she could get now. Soft ones. Brutal ones. She didn’t care. Her hands roamed to squeeze his muscular ass. When his mouth finally released hers, she watched his intense expression turn to one of bemusement.

“Actually, it was a superior blow job, Miss Goodleigh.” Malcolm had to laugh out loud when she curtsied in response. Then he unzipped the bag, which clattered inside. He pulled it open so she could examine the contents.

Ivana peered inside. Swords. Big knives. Little knives. Those funny star-shaped throwing things she and Felicity had seen on late night marathons of Kung Fu. In what took about five seconds, Donna Smoak realized that there was much more to this man than she had previously thought. Regular guys carried fucking golf clubs. This man with the adorable dimple in his chin could actually kill a person. Could she still consider this a fantasy if it was actually true? The air became charged with a danger she hadn’t felt before.

Her eyes pivoted back and forth, from the black bag of potential torture implements to Malcolm’s intense blue eyes. If she knew how to do anything, it was read a man – wait a second, she was terrible at reading men. Loser magnet, remember? But at this moment, she knew she was right. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He was just trying to share something. She took one last long look at the bag, tilting her head like she was familiar with such implements of death.

Malcolm waited for her next reaction. He wasn’t expecting her to pick up the bag and put it down on the floor.

“A nice collection, Mister Bond.” She moved around the bed, slowly, seductively, removing pillows and tossing them on the floor. Then she approached him, condom packet in hand. She tore it open and proceeded to install it on his member, never once losing eye contact.

“Knives are kind of old school aren’t they?” she teased. When she finished, she climbed up on the bed and crawled on her hands and knees toward the upholstered headboard (these good hotels thought of everything!). Meanwhile, he watched her, hypnotized by her beautiful round rump as it moved away from him. “Boys and their toys,” she muttered. Then she beckoned him to join her. In no time, he was positioned behind her, also kneeling, hands on her backside. He bit into one of her cheeks, sending heat through her entire body. His right hand reached around to grab a pendulous breast. He rubbed his throbbing member against her, adding lubrication and exciting her further.

Finally, when Ivana couldn’t take his teasing any more, she reached behind to position him where she needed him most. “There’s one thing I’ll never understand, Mister Bond.”

“What’s that?” he panted.

“Who needs a sword when you’ve got a cannon?” With that she impaled herself with a scream. Malcolm was no longer in control of his faculties. He started slamming into her with everything his libido had held in check for the last few years, it seemed. God, she felt so good. So hot beneath him. Around him. Every stroke felt like he was screwing her with a lightning bolt.

Malcolm liked her screaming, but her moaning was even better. Once in a while he would pull out and massage her clit softly with his fingers and she would make this primal sound. If she wasn’t facing the other way, she would have seen him smile a little. Then he would plunge back in again.

Funny, he thought, how this woman hardly knew him, but he felt so in tune with her at the moment. Perhaps he needed ecstasy in his life more than he remembered. It made him feel alive and connected to something bigger. This was important. After all, how could he do great things if he wasn’t connected to the world on all levels?

Merlyn was all in now. He found himself thinking about where he was going to fuck her next, even while he was still inside her. Shower. Dining table. Up against the window facing that fake Eiffel Tower. Oh yeah, that would be perfect. Her ass flattened against the glass, her legs wrapped around him and his cock buried deep. He might even sing “La Marseillaise” while he came. It was going to be a long night.

**XX**

Later, Merlyn’s entire form was huddled beneath the sheets while Ivana continued to make the sexiest noises he had ever heard. The room was a mess. Pillows strewn. Blankets twisted. Ivana’s black pumps littered the floor.

“Oh my God!” she whimpered.“

“Do you really want it?” he asked, his voice muffled under the linen.

“Please! Please! Right there! Aaah.” A moment later, Malcolm rose from the sheets, revealing the foot he was holding in both hands.

“Ivana, darling, I have found your weakness. Who knew a Bond Girl could be reduced to begging during a foot rub?” He grinned at her, that dazzling smile that made her catch her breath. Donna, still breathless, shook her head and gestured to the floor.

“If you had to wear “fuck me” shoes for fourteen hours, you would appreciate how good a foot rub could feel…Mister Bond. Guy spies have it easy.” Malcolm planted a trailing kiss on her arch that made her giggle.

**XX**

Ivana was curled up in Malcolm’s lap on the sofa, a warm, lazy feeling buzzed through her. He nuzzled her shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of her skin pressed up against his.

“Do you have to be anywhere?” he whispered.

“Well I do have plans to go to The Hague and seduce a Baron,” she stated with seriousness. Ivana knew that important people went to The Hague, but she didn’t really know where it was.

“Oh. I was thinking brunch.”

“Sure.”

Malcolm kissed her neck before jostling her to reach down and pick up his pants. She watched as he fished around for his pocket and produced his phone. He watched her as he initiated a call. His voice changed to one that was commanding and a little brusque. Her eyes registered that she was impressed with this new, commanding persona.

“It’s me. Yes. Vegas. I flew commercial. It wasn’t bad. Where is it now? Have it waiting at one o’clock.” With that cryptic conversation, the Dark Archer secured the Merlyn company jet to come and collect him. He was preparing to return to his life again.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Ivana volunteered, standing up and sauntering toward the window. The sun was just coming up and the lights of vehicles on the strip were moving steady below them. She looked at the smudges she had recently left on the glass and smirked. Next, she heard him ordering food from the hotel phone. After an amazing night, the morning didn’t look half bad.

After breakfast, Merlyn gave Ivana a soft kiss before heading into the bathroom with his dopp kit to shave. When he came out, she had gone. He had been worried that there might be an awkward moment at the end of their time together and now he realized that she also wanted to avoid anything that would diminish their fantasy. He packed his bags and headed to McCarron, his mind pulsing with ideas. When he returned to Starling City he would start anew. Solidify his business relationships. Find like minds. Repair his waning relationship with Tommy.

Donna Smoak walked down to the casino feeling like a million bucks. Tired, but pretty freaking incredible. It was as though the secret she was keeping – and it was very clear to her that everything that had happened in the past 14 hours would remain a secret – made her feel…more. Smarter. Sharper. More beautiful. More wanted. It also made her feel like her instincts were getting better and maybe her luck was changing. This was, after all, still Las Vegas. She sashayed through the entrance to the taxi lineup and caught the first one waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epilogue that came to me during the first chapter. I hope you like it!


	4. Soft and Warm Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fluffy bit.

Epilogue

Donna stayed busy working a second job as a weekend cashier at an all-you-can-eat buffet near the Stratosphere. Felicity had received a scholarship, but she would have a lot of incidental expenses, like clothes and pocket money. The girl also had expensive hobbies that included buying computer parts. Donna wanted to make sure she fit in and had everything needed to be successful.

Despite the distractions, Donna was still feeling low. Her brilliant girl was beginning a new life without her and she missed seeing her around the apartment. It had been five weeks since Felicity had backed her bags and headed to Boston for her first semester at MIT. She had also chosen to remain man-free for the time being. At least that part of her life was simple and manageable. She didn’t have the energy for losers any more.

At the end of a particularly sweltering, late September day, Donna returned home to find a note on her door about a package. She collected a large box from the building manager and brought it into her modest living room. It was wrapped in brown paper. Since it wasn’t her birthday, Donna was particularly intrigued and immediately ripped into the paper like a child. She opened the box lid and spotted a card. Opening it, she saw read following:

To the shiny Miss Goodleigh. Best regards, 007

She bit her bottom lip and smiled, recalling that night with fondness. She pulled open a layer of white tissue paper and sight of the contents caused her to clap her hands over her mouth.

Over the past months, Malcolm Merlyn had occasionally recalled his steamy tête-à-tête with a cocktail waitress as the highlight of his return. He considered it a necessary step in transitioning back to his life in the west. More importantly, the woman had impressed him with her character.  Donna Smoak - that was her name - hadn’t been hard to track down. There weren’t too many 16 year-old scholarship recipients enrolled at MIT, so finding a guardian’s name and contact information was relatively easy. What he knew of her situation suggested that a small extravagance would be appreciated. Besides, it seemed like good karma to do something nice for someone who expected nothing, particularly when he knew they would never have occasion to cross paths again.

That night Donna Smoak initiated a ritual she would repeat many times in the future when she was feeling low.

The apartment was dark, except for cold, curious light in the kitchen. There, Donna leaned strategically between the counter and the open refrigerator, cooling herself, holding a glass of port, which she now routinely stocked in her liquor cabinet.

Donna had peeled off every stitch of clothing and donned the contents of the box – a knee-length red fox coat with a caramel silky lining that slid luxuriously against her naked skin. It was the most ridiculously unnecessary thing a woman like her, living in the desert, could own. But she loved it. Combing her fingers sensuously through the soft fur, she practically purred. Her problems belonged to another woman that night.

Unable to contain her smile, Ivana paused to raise her glass in a silent toast to a certain dangerous man and took a sip of the sweet nectar that reminded her of a searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you again to all of the Readers, especially those who take the time to write a comment. It means a lot.  
> Second, I have decided that this story should be dedicated to John Barrowman. He really is a great Merlyn and his performances really did inspire me as I was writing. He’s also super hot, really, and has such an appeal that transcends labels. I am definitely a fan.
> 
> So, many of you may know that this story began some time before Mr. Guggenheim made comments at Paleyfest about how pairing Malcolm Merlyn and Donna Smoak. He seemed to think it was a funny idea, but I think we know better, don’t we? J
> 
> Thank you again for your ongoing encouragement. Next story will probably focus on Oliver Queen…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story. There will be three chapters, total. I hope you like it and I truly appreciate your comments!


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